


Archetypal

by Anonymous



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, M/M, Shared coping mechanisms, Vague references to child abuse, Vague references to past trauma, doctor!Erik, drunk!Charles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern, still powered AU. Erik and Charles have two main things in common: they're both mutants, and they both use glib banter to protect themselves. The other thing they have in common is Emma, who introduces them. Of course, there's an instant connection between them. From there, it's just a matter of breaking through years' worths of defense mechanisms on both sides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It only takes one look at Emma to figure out what she’s got planned for the night. She’s done up her hair and donned her favorite dress (white, of course—why does she wear so much damn white?) and that only means one thing.

            “Emma, no!” Erik exclaims. “I distinctly remember saying I wasn’t going to come over if you were going to drag me to a party.” Being the uncaring woman that she is, Emma just tugs him through the doorway and brushes imaginary lint off his shoulders.

“That’s why I lied,” she says, smug as ever, and Erik is left to wonder why on earth she’s his best friend. “ _Only_  friend, sugar,” she corrects. “And it’s because I know how to deal with you.”

            “By taking me hostage and dragging me to parties against my will?”

She’s moved on to combing his hair now, and where did the comb even come from? She must have a tertiary mutation: the ability to conjure styling products.

            “When the situation calls for it, yes. But you’ll have fun. Trust me.”

            Erik narrows his eyes at her and smirks. “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.” He leaves a dramatic pause, then adds snidely, “In diamond form.”

            Emma does her best mock swoon, falling back against the wall with the back of her hand pressed to her forehead. “You wound me!”

            “Sometimes I’d like to!”

            Emma stands up to her full height. She may not be able to tower over him, but that’s never stopped her from trying. “As if you could!” she exclaims. “I could take you down in a minute!” For that matter, she’s done it plenty of times in sparring matches. She’s done it even without use of her telepathy. For all of Erik’s strengths, he’s too rash to stand a chance against someone who knows him as well as Emma does.

            “I’m getting better,” Erik protests. “I almost beat you last time. Give me a week or two to work on my focus and I’ll knock you on your ass.”

            Emma laughs mockingly. “A week or two? Erik, you’ve been sparring with me for years, and your focus is as feeble as ever.”

            “It’s much better than it used to be. You’re just in denial. Besides, you’ve had all those years of reading my mind to learn how I think. No one else has that advantage.”

            Something about that statement reminds Emma of the party. “You almost distracted me there, but no cigar. You’re still coming with me.”

            “What possible reason would I have to do that?”

“I think you’ll really hit it off with the host.”

            Erik stiffens and pulls away from her. Emma’s tried to play matchmaker for him before, and it’s never gone well. The last date Emma sent him on had been especially disastrous. The man he’d met up with had been utterly ashamed of his mutation, and the longer they’d conversed, the more Erik had just wanted to shake the man. Eventually, Erik’s temper had snapped, resulting in a confrontation that had somehow changed from verbal to physical. Erik hadn’t been the one to throw the first punch—which had prevented him from losing his job when he came into work with a black eye—but it was a near thing. After that, Erik had thought Emma would surely have given up, but then again, she’s nothing if not persistent.

“Remember how well that’s worked out before?” is all Erik says.

            “I miscalculated before. I know, Erik. But you need more people in your life. You’d never say it, but I know these things.” Her tone is resigned and a little sad, and it’s so uncomfortable to see her parted from her customary air of flippant superiority that Erik almost regrets having said anything. Emma’s breaking the unwritten rule of their friendship, and he has no idea how to handle that. He shifts from foot to foot, ever so slightly.

            “Emma…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back to making your life hell in no time.” And just like that, she slips back into the role of the irritating best friend, smooth as the shift between flesh and diamond. “Anyway, you should have known we were going out when I told you to wear a good suit.”

            “You  _always_  tell me to wear a suit, Emma.”

            “Yes, but this time I specified that it should be a particularly nice suit. Advice which I see you’ve neglected, as per usual. It’s a good thing you’re handsome, because your dress sense really walks the line between tasteful and gaudy.” She tugs at his tie in demonstration. “A red tie? With a purple suit? I don’t understand how you can look so put together in casual clothes and yet the second you try to wear something nice, you chose an outfit like this.”

            “Clearly it’s a sign I wasn’t meant to go to your fancy parties, then,” Erik retorts. Emma just rolls her eyes and tucks his tie back in. Then she pushes him into the living room.

            “Parlor,” she corrects, and it’s Erik’s turn to roll his eyes.

            “Whatever you want to call it. At least tell me something about whoever it is that you’re going to set me up with this time.”

            “His name is Charles. He’s a few years younger than you, gorgeous, a genius, good manners…” Erik raises an eyebrow and she continues. “No, don’t worry. You do have some things in common. He’s a mutant, of course; I know better than to try to hitch you with a human. He was in the tabloids a fair amount when he first made it known that he was a telepath. His sense of style is just as skewed as yours, but in the other direction. At least the man can wear a damn suit… What?”

            “You’re seriously going to set me up with this guy just because you think we both can only be trusted to dress ourselves half of the time?”

            “Were you not listening?” Emma scolds. “Gorgeous. Genius. Mutant. Charming. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t think to introduce you sooner.”

            “This is a horrible idea,” Erik groans.

            “Don’t be silly, Erik. As I was  _trying_  to tell you, he’s a dear friend of mine from my university days. Give him a chance, won’t you?”

            As always, Erik can’t say no to Emma, so he grumbles and mutters under his breath, but he lets Emma lead him out to her car. If this goes badly, at least he can hold it against her later.

\--------------

 

            The “house” they pull up to looks more like a castle to Erik, and once again, he regrets letting Emma talk him into this. At first, Erik can’t even begin to fathom what one family would do with so much space, but it becomes apparent once they enter the mansion. The entryway is full of coats, and the room after that is crammed with guests. Erik swears, and Emma slaps his arm.

            “Stop that. You’ve been to a party before.”

            “Never one like this. Even you can’t know all these people. But I only know you, which puts me at an extreme disadvantage.” Emma doesn’t respond, but the look on her face means that she’s probably contacting their host to let him know that they’ve arrived. Sure enough, he hears her giggle (Emma  _never_  giggles!) as an arm slips around her waist.

            “ _Sooo_  glad you could make it, my dear!” the host drawls. Erik’s skeptical about him already. He’s got some nerve, hanging all over Erik’s best friend. Erik focuses on the man’s face, ready to fix him with a glare, and… Charles looks nothing like Erik had expected he would. Emma’s wearing her high heels, and Charles is actually a little shorter than she is. His face is slightly freckled and his hair is just long enough to create a little wave at the end of each lock. His brows are arched in the vain expression Erik’s learned to expect from Emma’s crowd, but his eyes are almost unnaturally warm. Emma’s right about one thing, though: the man looks good in a suit. The one he’s selected for this particular occasion is a curious blue-grey color that even Erik wouldn’t want to wear, but somehow it works on Charles. Perhaps it’s what’s bringing out the color in the man’s eyes.

            Charles meets Erik’s aborted glower with a coy smile. “You must be Erik!” he cries happily. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

Erik glances at Emma for assistance, but she just shrugs.

            “Erik Lehnsherr, meet Charles Xavier: geneticist, socialite, and mutant rights advocate.” And she actually  _winks_!

            Erik just stares at the two of them. He’s getting the feeling that he’s in way over his head. Certainly, this wasn’t what he’d been imagining when he’d reluctantly agreed to come along. Seeing the two of them together, Erik feels a bit like the third wheel, and that’s ridiculous because he hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. But the telepaths match so nicely, draped languorously over one another and bearing elegantly polished smiles. They look so comfortable with the whole scene, and it’s clear that they both belong here.

            Emma nudges Erik, and he realizes that Charles has stuck out a hand to shake. Erik takes it, and gets another surprise. Given Charles’ drunken drawl and the way he lounges, Erik had predicted that the man would have an equally lethargic grip. It seems that Charles is full of surprises, however. While his hand is soft and free of calluses, his grasp is solid.

            “Pleased to meet you,” Erik mumbles.

            Charles’s smile just grows wider as he insists, “Really, the pleasure is all mine.”

\---------

 

Somehow, after what feels like an eon of small talk and idle banter, Erik ends up sitting across the coffee table from Charles. He’s still not at ease in this house, but at least he’s got a good bottle of beer in his hand, so he supposes it’s alright. That is, until he realizes that there’s a distinct lack of Emma in the room. He racks his mind for a polite excuse to flee the drunken telepath, but he’s never been great with the finer points of social interaction, so he just stays put and hopes that Charles will figure out that Erik wants to be left alone. Surely Erik must be projecting his discomfort loudly enough, but Charles continues to chat blithely at him. After a while, it becomes apparent that all Erik can do is attempt to steer the conversation away from the difference between the number of chromosomes in a fern and the number in a kitten.

            “So how did you meet Emma?” he offers.

            “Oh, she didn’t tell you? We met in the Mutant Student Union. In her words ‘we bonded instantly, since we were both lovely, wealthy, and intelligent telepaths.’”

            “Forgot to add modest to the list,” Erik mutters. Charles just laughs and raises his glass like he’s giving a toast. And really, he has no right to look this damn cute when he’s being so self-satisfied, but he’s got a little spot of red on his right cheek, and his nose looks so kissable… And Erik must be more out of sorts than he thought, if he’s thinking like this halfway through his first beer. Charles leans in a little closer and gives Erik a conspiratorial look.

“Emma and I actually dated for a while, but we both decided fairly quickly that it wasn’t meant to be. We’re too similar, I think, though she’ll deny it. We were roommates for three years, though, and we’ve been friends since. What about you? How did  _you_  meet Emma?” This at least, Erik can talk about easily.

            “I had to go to a benefit… gala… thing. I tried to get out of it, but my boss wouldn’t let it go. Emma was there, and when she saw how uncomfortable I was, she came over to make it worse. She’s tormented me from then on.”

            “Quintessential Emma,” Charles agrees. “Why did your boss make you go? Needed a handsome face to represent the company?” As he asks, Charles traces the line of Erik’s jaw with one finger, leaning in just a little closer.

            Erik chokes on a mouthful of beer. Subtlety is another virtue Charles seems to have missed entirely. “He said it fell to me as the intern with the most seniority,” Erik explains through a minor coughing fit. “I work at the Mutant Pediatric Clinic, and apparently we were the local elite’s charity of the month or something. ” He remembers at the last moment that Charles is one the aforementioned “elite” and Erik can’t quite meet his eyes.

            Charles, however, doesn’t seem a bit deterred.  When Erik looks up, Charles’ expression is still nothing less than gleeful. “Have you always wanted to work in healthcare?”

            “I guess so. When I was growing up, my doctor never really knew how to treat me. I guess she was worried that I’d throw a tantrum and accidentally stab her with a bit of metal from the sharps bin or something. And the nurses were more worried about giving me my shots than I was about getting them. There’s so much about mutants that humans just don’t understand, and going to see the doctor can be traumatic enough without having to deal with everyone scrutinizing you. Of course, there are special mutant-run practices, but they’re nearly impossible to afford. That’s where the clinic comes in. We provide actual healthcare for the children who’ve only been examined—scrutinized—by humans.”

            Erik tries not to think about his own experiences as a patient, but he can’t help it. He’s out of place here, and the disorientation is taking its toll on him. He tries desperately to focus his thoughts elsewhere: to think of playfully biting things to tell Emma when the party is over, think of how much he doesn’t want to ever go to a party like this again. It’s like trying not to think of elephants, and unbidden, the images rise in his mind. They pass before him in smoky transparent grey, one after another. He’s used to this: this happens from time to time; he can deal. But not  _now_! Why does he have to think of these things  _now_? He’s had plenty of people ask him how he decided to be a doctor, and he always gives the same response, so why is it so different now? He clamps down fiercely on the stream of thoughts, imagining a tourniquet cutting off its circulation.

            He breathes and waits for it to pass.

            When he manages to meet Charles’ eyes, he nearly jerks back. Charles is leaning forward, his eyes locked on Erik. The look on the man’s face is entirely unlike the coy and showy expressions he’s been seeing all night. There’s something of substance here, framed by the slope of the eyes and the soft folds of the lids. The crooked smile is gone, and left in its wake, there’s a pensive press of lips. Erik squirms in his seat, unsure what to make of it. Charles opens his mouth to speak, reaches out a hand towards Erik, then seems to think the better of both actions.

            “Did you read my mind?” Erik’s voice comes out flat and distant.

            “No!” Charles exclaims, a little too quickly. He winces and adds, “I didn’t mean to, but it was ‘loud’ and I’m drunk. I only got bits and pieces, anyway.” He doesn’t tell Erik that he’s sorry, and there’s only a little trace of pity in his eyes.

            “It’s fine,” Erik mumbles.

            They sit in silence, and after a while Erik comes to realize that it isn’t actually all that uncomfortable. He finishes his beer and Charles sits calmly and observes the party as it continues around him. He chats idly with whoever comes near him, but he doesn’t try to draw Erik into the flow of conversation. Erik studies him as he flirts breezily with a young woman in an elegant one-sleeved dress. Charles nods, laughs and smiles, and his eyes never stray from her. He even leans toward her under the entirely transparent guise of examining the pendant around her neck. Still, there’s something missing, and while the lady is clearly flattered and charmed, she still saunters off after a few minutes.

            As if he can feel Erik’s eyes on him, Charles turns back and offers Erik a nearly self-deprecating smirk. “You’ve found me out,” he says. “As hard as I try, I am an absolutely rubbish flirt.”

            Erik smiles back at him. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

            Although he knows this will make Emma utterly unbearable, he still leaves his number etched lightly into Charles’ metal coaster before he departs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update! I'll try to start updating more regularly from now on. Anyway, I spent some time figuring out where I want this to go, and I have it all plotted out now! Special thanks to N (who keeps changing his username, so he just gets an initial) for being my beta! Also, points to anyone who can guess what archetype I'm using for Erik. I doubt Charles has really had enough screen-time for his to be apparent yet.

            Erik comes in to work on Monday feeling uncharacteristically gracious. He doesn’t even grumble when he sees that his desk has become some kind of sanctuary for wayward paperwork. Years after starting at the clinic, he still always seems to be the one who gets slapped with the most menial of chores. At this point, he’s given up protesting that it ought to be the secretary’s job to deal with administrative issues. Today is an atypically quiet day, and he’s already halfway through his campaign against the chaos of poor filing when his first patient arrives.

            “Wanda Maximoff?” he asks, as he enters the waiting room. As it turns out, he doesn’t really need to ask. The sole occupants of the waiting room are a grown woman and a girl in her early teens. Wanda has thick brown curls that fall past her shoulders. She’s wearing a light pink dress, a fitted red zip-up, and a pair red lace-up boots, but despite the bold colors, she looks like she’s trying to take up as little space as she can manage. Erik passes by the woman, offering his hand to Wanda instead. “Hello. I’m Doctor Lehnsherr, but you can call me Erik.” The girl doesn’t meet his eyes, but she shakes his hand dutifully. Only then does Erik offer his hand to the woman. “Ms.—”

“Maximoff. Marya.” The woman sounds taken aback, like he should have already known who she was.

“I don’t like to assume,” Erik explains. “We get a lot of kids in here who come from foster homes or live with distant relatives.”

Erik shows both Maximoffs to one of the examination rooms. Wanda perches on the paper-covered seat like she’s getting ready to spring off of it at any moment. Her mother settles down into the other chair. Erik stands by the door, but he’s careful not to block it. His patients sometimes need visual proof that they can leave at any time.

“So, what brings you in today?”

Wanda looks him in the eye for the first time, and he sees a dark bruise on her left cheek.

“I’ve just been feeling sick a lot lately,” she replies. Her voice is soft, but there’s a hint of sharpness there, like she’s getting tired of acting so meek but she isn’t sure how else to behave.

“What kind of sick?”

“Oh, you know. Like sore throats and stomachaches and sneezing. That kind of thing. Nothing major, but it’s just happening more often than normal.”

“Headaches too,” Marya adds. “And muscle cramps.”

“I see,” says Erik. “If you wouldn’t mind, Ms. Maximoff, we generally talk to our patients alone first, then with their parents. Would you mind if I talk to Wanda alone for a moment?”

Marya looks and Wanda, only rising from her seat after the girl gives her a nod. On her way to the door, the woman gives her daughter’s shoulder a squeeze, and Erik can’t help but wonder whether these gestures are signs of parental concern or if they’re unspoken warnings.

“What happened to your face?” Erik asks when the door is closed again. Whenever he can get away with it, he’s direct with his patients. The other doctors give him grief about it from time to time, but he finds that it makes the kids much more uncomfortable when he tries to be tactful.

“My parents don’t hit me, if that’s what you want to know.” Wanda snaps. She sighs then, and continues less sharply, “Sorry. I know it’s your job to take care of all kinds of kids, but I get tired of people being suspicious of my parents. My brother and I are both mutants, and they’re fine with that. They found this place because they’re always on the lookout for mutant resources. If anything, they’re a little overprotective.”

No bullshit with this girl, then. Erik smiles at her. “Point taken. What can you do?” he prompts. Most of the kids he sees don’t need to be asked twice. They’re thrilled to finally have someone to show off their powers to. Wanda just purses her lips.

“Pietro has super speed. I… My mutation’s a little harder to explain. I’m not even sure exactly what my mutation is yet. Sometimes if I want something to happen and I focus really hard, it happens. Sometimes not, though. And sometimes when I try, it goes wrong. That’s what happened to my face.”

“Mind if I sit?” Erik asks, gesturing toward the empty seat. Wanda shakes her head, and Erik settles in, crossing one leg over the other. “What were you trying to do when you got that bruise?”

“Promise you won’t tell my mom?” Erik’s heard those words before from other children. Wanda doesn’t sound afraid, she just sounds like she wants to avoid being scolded, but it still rubs him the wrong way.

“Unless you’re posing a significant threat of danger to yourself of others, I won’t say a word.”

“This one girl at school’s been a real jerk to me, even though I never did a thing to her. On Friday, she was being even worse than usual, and I just got sick of it, I guess. I tried to make her trip and hit her face on the desk, but my focus isn’t very good when I get that mad, and the desk just flew at my head. It was so embarrassing!” Wanda gave him a bashful look and continued, “Maybe I kinda deserved it, though. Even though she’s a jerk, I shouldn’t have tried to hurt her.”

Erik’s lips quirk up into a wry smile. “Frankly, it sounds to me like she had it coming. Just don’t tell my boss I said that, ‘kay? She hates when I promote violence.”

“Deal.” After a moment, she adds, “I really _have_ been feeling sick, you know.”

“I believe you.”

“My mom doesn’t. I think she only took me here to get you to tell me there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Well, my guess is that there _isn’t_ anything wrong with you, but that doesn’t mean that you haven’t been feeling sick. It sounds like you’ve got your hands full at school, and stress often has a negative effect on the body. And physical side-effects aren’t uncommon for mutants who are still trying to master their powers, so that’s probably a factor as well. I’ll still give you a check-up to be sure, but your mom’s probably right about this one. Anything else you want to talk to me about before she comes back?”

She looks hesitant, but finally she says, “I think my parents are more worried than they’re acting. They give each other these looks sometimes, when they think I can’t see. I think my mutation scares them a little. They’re fine with Pietro’s, but he doesn’t end up hurting himself when he loses his temper.”

“If they’re as supportive as you say, they’ll come around.” _If they’re not as supportive as all that,_ Erik thinks, _this would be a good time to tell me._

“You’re probably right,” Wanda sighs, but she doesn’t sound very reassured.

\---------

Marya comes back in, and Erik talks with the two of them together, but he doesn’t learn anything more. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite getting the full story, but he’s clearly not going to be able to pry anything else out of Wanda. Once he’s back in his office, he makes a note to keep an eye out for the girl if she comes back in, but he doesn’t get much time to fret because Emma has apparently decided that she can’t wait to call him until his break.

“Emma,” he groans into the receiver, “I never should have told you my extension. What have I told you about bothering me at work?”

“You told me something about it? I suppose I wasn’t paying attention at the time.”

“That would be a be a valid point if we’d only had this conversation once.”

“Or maybe I’m just in the habit of ignoring you when you try to make the rules,” she counters.

“That must be it. I do have work to do, though, so just tell me what you want.”

“Has Charles called you yet?”

“No. Look, just drop it, ok. He’ll call when he calls. God, don’t you have your own love life to worry about?”

“Ooh, touchy, aren’t we?”

“Trying to work.”

“He really liked you, you know.”

Erik _knows_ she’s judging his reaction. She can’t read his mind from this distance, but she doesn’t have to use telepathy to know exactly what he’s thinking. Despite this, Erik walks right into her trap. “How do you know?”

“Hmm, you _are_ smitten.”

“I’m not-“

“Oh hush. I’m only toying with you. Erik, the man was my friend in college. I’ve played wingman for him more times than I can count, so I think it’s safe to say that I’ve seen how he acts when he’s interested in someone. I’m just surprised that he hasn’t called yet. He normally doesn’t bother with the whole ‘wait X amount of time to call’ game.”

“Right. Fine. Whatever. If I promise to let you know as soon as I hear from him, will you please let me get back to work?”

“Alright,” she says in the indulgent voice she uses to let him know that she’s only conceding because she’s the most gracious of women. Erik snorts and hangs up the phone before she can chide him for his poor manners.

He’s just begun to sort through the last pile of files when his cell rings.

“For fuck’s sake! Some of us actually have to work for a living.”

“Right. I’ll call back another time, shall I?” The voice at the other end is clearly nonplussed and certainly doesn’t belong to Emma.

“Shit. Charles?”

“You were expecting someone else?”

“Emma was just… Being Emma. It doesn’t matter.”

“I _can_ call again later if this is a bad time,” Charles offers, but his tone makes it clear that he doesn’t expect that he’ll have to. Erik decides the papers can wait.

“No, it’s fine. It’s nice to hear from you.”

“I would have called you sooner, but I couldn’t find your number. I should have guessed it was on the coaster itself, but I’m afraid subtle gestures are lost on me once I’ve consumed a certain amount of alcohol.”

“I told you I was going to give you my number. I’m not sure that really counts as subtlety.”

“You didn’t say _where_. And in my defense, I’m much more observant when I’m sober.”

“I’d hope so. You wouldn’t be much of a scientist otherwise.”

“I’ll have you know, I happen to be the best in my field!” Charles exclaims, voice full of mock indignation and barely contained laughter. “And,” he continues, dropping into an almost comically sensual purr, “If you’d care to join me for coffee sometime, I could show you just how fantastic my powers of observation really are.” Erik’s sure he hasn’t heard a pick up line this bad since he was in high school, and yet he can’t keep himself from being utterly charmed.

“Saturday morning?”

“For you,” Charles allows, “I’ll even drag myself out of bed before ten.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took me so long! I've been going back and forth between this one and the kid!fic, but I'll try to keep updating them both at a reasonable pace.
> 
> Edit: I just realized that (like the space cadet I am) I forgot to thank Clawfoottub. Not only did her gorgeous drawing inspire this story, but she also beta'd this chapter for me! <3

Apparently Charles’ idea of “coffee” is actually a late breakfast.

“I did warn you that I tend to sleep in,” he tells Erik over the phone, entirely unabashed. “I didn’t have time to eat before now, and breakfast _is_ the most important meal of the day, you know.”

Ginny’s, the café Charles suggests, turns out to be one of those hokey 1950s style diners with an overabundance of red plastic and checkerboard tiling. Erik had been expecting Charles to pick some tastefully decorated little bistro, but then again, he’s never been a good judge of what others will want. Emma’s warned him about Charles’ rather unusual dress sense, but it’s still bizarre to see the man sitting it one of the booths wearing something that looks suspiciously like tweed, despite the unseasonable heat of the day. The whole scene has Erik completely thrown off, and some childish little part of his mind is telling him to just turn tail and run, but then Charles looks up from his menu and waves and Erik finds himself slipping into the opposite seat.

“Hello Charles. Aren’t you a bit warm wearing all that?” Of course it’s come out all wrong and what was meant to be a simple jibe at the man’s clothing choice has morphed into some horrible come-on. He refuses to look away, determined to play it off with the confidence that he suddenly isn’t feeling anymore.

“Hello, yourself, Erik. I don’t have your lovely arms, I’m afraid, so I haven’t the need to show them off. Also, I run cold, so the warmth is really quite lovely.” Charles gives him a cheeky smile that seems to say both _I’m always a step ahead of you_ and _I was genuinely amused by that exchange, regardless of whether or not you intended for it to go that way._

“Whatever makes you happy.” It’s probably rude, but he just _has_ to ask, “So why this place?”

“I like how lively it is.”

 _Well_ , Erik thinks, _’lively’ is one word for it_.

“Alright, I’ll admit the décor is a bit much,” Charles continues pointedly, “But I happen to enjoy it. Besides, the food is quite good, and Mr. Black’s a friend of mine.”

“Who?”

“The owner. I’ve been coming here since he opened the place.”

“Come on, Charles, we all know you only come here to see Ginny,” says a voice immediately to Erik’s right.

For just a moment, Erik’s hands tense and he prepares to use his cutlery to do horrible things to the man, Hippocratic Oath be damned.

 _Calm,_ Charles sends him, firmly. _He didn’t mean to startle you._ Erik releases the tension in his muscles, but he glares at the telepath all the same. Early on, Erik developed a talent for hiding all but the smallest tells of anxiety. It’s been years since anyone but Emma has been privy to any volatility in his nature beyond a tendency toward anger, and Emma knows to leave it well enough alone. Charles clearly doesn’t have the same boundaries. _I’m sure there are private things you wouldn’t want me to comment on,_ Erik thinks.

Why on earth did he think it would be a good idea to go on a date, of all things? It’s hard for him to deal with people to begin with, and this is clearly just asking for trouble. It’s going to be more effort than it’s worth, and the whole thing is going to end in disaster. He’s almost convinced himself to just walk away now and minimize the damage, but then there’s a little burst of _amazementjoytinylookatyou_ from Charles and Erik can’t help but laugh. The telepath is either actively tuning Erik out, or he’s simply too distracted to pay him any mind. All of his focus is on the little girl in the stranger’s arms. She looks to be a little over a year old, all chubby cheeks and giant brown eyes. Her black hair is short and almost wispy. Charles reaches out and tickles her with obvious glee.

“Look at you!” he repeats aloud. “How can you possibly have hands this small?” He says it like it’s some kind of miraculous achievement, and the child giggles and flaps her arms as if to show them off.

Just like that, Erik remembers what he saw in Charles to begin with. The man has this ridiculous capacity for joy that’s so foreign to Erik. Perhaps the inevitable fallout will be worthwhile after all.

“You must be Mr. Black,” Erik says to the man to his right. “Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’d shake, but—” he gestures with his head to the squirming tot.

“I’ll hold her,” Charles offers.

“Not a chance. You can’t go stealing my mascot, I need her to lure in customers!”

“Very well,” Charles mock-sighs. He makes small talk easily, inquiring after business and the welfare of ‘your lady friend’ until Mr. Black reluctantly goes back to work. All the while, Erik observes quietly, just as he did at the party where they met.

“Why wouldn’t he let you hold the baby?” Erik asks once the two of them are alone again.

“He’s a father. They tend to be protective.”

“It’s not just that,” Erik insists. Surely Charles must see what’s going on here. “He knows you’re a mutant, doesn’t he?”

“Of course he does. I’m not in the habit of hiding it from my friends.”

“I’m not sure he’s that great a friend,” Erik mutters. Charles looks like he’s about to argue, so it’s probably lucky for Erik that their server comes before the discussion can continue.

Charles orders tea, eggs, bacon, and potatoes, as well as a side of toast with cream cheese and jam. Erik quirks an eyebrow at him, but Charles ignores it. Erik simply orders coffee; when he goes on a coffee date, coffee is what he expects. Erik’s feeling a little out of his depth at this point, but the promise of caffeine and predictability makes him feel a bit better.

“What exactly do you do, anyway?” he finds himself asking. It seems as good a place to start as any.

“I study genetics. More specifically, I’ve been looking into the differences between mutants and GTs.”

“Mutants and what?”

“GTs. Genotypicals.”

“Humans, you mean?”

Charles sighs at him and Erik almost expects him to roll his eyes. “We’re just as human as they are, you know.”

“You say that as though ‘human’ is something we should want to be. From what I’ve seen, we have no reason to want to be like them.”

“It’s not about wanting to be anything,” Charles rebuts. “We’re all the same species. I know some of the separatist groups throw around the idea of us being ‘homo superior,’ but so far none of the data supports it. It’s just a phrase they use.”

Erik opens his mouth to argue, but Charles waves his hand and announces, “I have a strict policy against politics before breakfast. I gave it a shot, but I’m afraid I can’t break that rule, even for you.” His eyes have that glint to them again, and he’s donned that strangely adorable smirk that Erik first saw at Emma’s party. Normally, Erik would be put out by views like Charles’, but there’s something about the way the man speaks… It’s something he can’t quite place: a kind of bright, weightless force that rises from beyond the words themselves. It draws Erik in, despite his better judgment.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a deal-breaker,” he allows.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this picture drawn by Clawfoottub (http://clawfoottub.tumblr.com/post/19787902630/a-fixed-up-version-of-an-earlier-fanart-my) and instantly, I knew I had to write a ficlet inspired by it. Over 2,000 words later, I've just finished the first chapter, so I guess it's not exactly a ficlet after all.


End file.
